


Divergence

by Still_Not_King



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Fluff, M/M, Star Trek: Just in Time fest Challenge, the tiniest bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29182752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_Not_King/pseuds/Still_Not_King
Summary: Doctor Bashir finds himself in a timeline that's mostly the same, with one glaring difference.Conversations with himself, Garak, and an appearance by Dax ensue.(Really, he just wants to go home. He misses his husband and it's been a very long day).Aaaand maybe he'll help our Prime!Bashir take a peek at some possibilities...(This was mostly just an excuse for me to write fun, fluffy stuff and play with timelines for the TimeFest Challenge. Edited for formatting 2/8 for an easier read).
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 15
Kudos: 83
Collections: Star Trek: Just in Time Fest





	Divergence

**Author's Note:**

> Unending thanks to @Syaunei for their amazing feedback, their ability to edit English far better than I, for helping me brainstorm fun and ridiculous scenarios for these boys to encounter, and for generally being wonderful and supportive.  
> And thank you @KJGooding for notes, helping make sure I don't use too many qualifiers, also loving Gone-Slightly-Bajoran Julian, and really just being a swell person. 
> 
> Really, this group is amazing and I don't deserve any of you, haha.

Julian rushed down the corridor towards Garak’s Clothiers. 

He understood the Cardassian still being testy with him from this morning. (He could have kicked himself for bailing in the middle of what had turned into a rather intense _actual_ disagreement, but he and the other, Bajoran doctor in the clinic alternated off-cycle appointment blocks every 2 weeks and this was his rotation). To his credit, he hadn’t expected an offhand comment to degenerate into a shouting match. 

But still. 

He didn’t think it was worth locking him out of their own home before knocking off to work for the day. 

You’d think they would still be in the honeymoon phase, but nooooo. Honestly, things had changed less in the last few months than they had when he’d resigned his commission from Starfleet over a year ago. (Though he supposed Elim becoming the first person in his life he’d told about his… erm… _childhood health problems_ had probably more to do with that than anything else). He’d been so worried for so long, and all his near-hour-long monologue had warranted was an overdramatic hand over the Cardassian’s heart and an “Honestly, dear. Don’t scare me like that, I thought they were transferring you. I’m more shocked you’re willing to resign at all, let alone for ostensibly self-preserving reasons. This project assisting the Bajorans transition away from fully relying on the Federation for their medical care is a much more suitable use of your time. Tea?”

Well, augmented memory or not, he was still at a loss as to what Garak had done to render any and every code he’s tried to access their quarters so utterly useless. He was tired, cranky, his head hurt a bit, and he’d spilled growth medium for his current batch of bacteria cultures on himself, so distracted he’d been by their earlier argument. All the doctor wanted was to change out of his clothes and eat a solid lunch before meeting with the new CMO for their weekly tennis match. (He found the Caitian and himself well-matched without any real holding back on his part, which was refreshing). Julian marched irately down the Promenade with a single minded intention - find his husband.

  
***********************************

  
  


Garak was redraping a mannequin when Bashir tromped through the front doors. It had been days since their last lunch together, those in general having become more sporadic since he’d been overseeing the reconstruction of his shop after the explosion. Bashir hadn’t stopped by since perfunctorily dropping off a sweet-smelling, many bloomed, blue-white potted flower (the tag said “Hyacinth,” though how to pronounce that combination of Standard letters correctly still eluded him) with muttered well-wishes and a fleeting smile the day the shop reopened. So it was, Garak barely had time to hide his surprise at seeing the doctor - and in civilian clothes to boot - before the man himself was standing far too close for comfort. And with quite a frustrated look on his face. He put on his genial customer service smile anyway.

“Well good morning, Doctor. And what can I do for you this --”

Julian narrowed his eyes and cut him off. “Don’t you _Doctor_ me, what’ve you done to the door code?”

Garak blinked, genuinely flummoxed. “Ah… I’m sorry. What door?”

The tailor hardly thought he deserved the look of affronted disbelief this reply received, but before he could object to the drama of it all Julian did something he’d never done before in their years of acquaintanceship.

He poked him.

One finger, square in the middle of the chest.

 _Poked_ him.

Him!

Elim Garak.

“What door- listen to him. What door, _Doctor_ ?” Julian rolled his eyes with - still unwarranted, surely - exasperation. “The door to our quarters, _Mister_ Garak. I’ve got a tennis match with C’taal after lunch and I’d very much like to not play in my clinic clothes. I’ve still got agar on my pants from three hours ago. I--” 

He seemed to suddenly run out of steam and sighed a short huff, head hanging. Then he hiked himself up to sit impertinently on the display table next to Garak’s mannequin and stared at his swinging feet with a look of consternation.

“I’m sorry about this morning. I didn’t think it would turn into a big…” another sigh. “I just didn’t think.” Half his mouth quirked up in a tentative smile and he managed to catch Garak’s eyes.  
“I meant it, though. What I said. If you were up for it. I know it’s not…” Julian glanced around the shop. “Ahh, we can talk about it for real tonight, but I am sorry for running out this morning and I want you to know I… I didn’t want to. You know I still feel like I need to set a good example. Make sure they know I’m serious, that it wasn’t a backup plan, that they don’t think any less of _you_ because of my being less than exemplary. Sometimes I get my priorities mixed up,” he held up a hand to hold off an interruption he apparently anticipated, though Garak had none. “Which I know, you are _well_ aware. But still, I wanted you to know I’d realized on my own. And I’m sorry.” He leveled an accusatory glare at his companion. “But you didn’t need to lock me out to teach me a lesson, I’m not a _child_.”

  
Garak was… well, confused was one word for it.

Bewildered, perplexed, puzzled… all Standard words for what he was experiencing.

He had a distinct feeling he’d missed a trick somewhere, and it was as uncomfortable as he remembered. Possibilities flitted through his mind as quickly as he could dismiss them. Was Bashir possessed? An imposter? Amnesia? Implanted memories? A hologram? Was he - Garak - hallucinating?

Nefarious intentions were quickly dismissed. No one would go to such lengths to so thoroughly impersonate the good doctor then approach with such a flawed version of their history. No, this was something else.

Perhaps it was Bashir who was hallucinating.

That must be it. After all, that was the only way to explain Bashir’s reference to…

Garak blinked several times in quick succession.  
“ _Our_ quarters are… locked?”

The look on the doctor’s face was unbearably fond as he tilted his head to look at Garak. He blinked and squinted suspiciously.

“You know even after all this time, it’s only taken 2 minutes for me to go from completely convinced it was your mischief to now acutely wondering if Miles just needs to reset the security settings in the habitat ring and I’ve burst in here simply to make an ass of myself.”

Julian’s smile turned a bit sly. “Though since you’re not being an unbearably imperious bastard, I’ll assume I’m forgiven regardless.”

“Doctor, I assure you - you will always be forgiven.”

(For… whatever it was. Best not to chase that particular regnar into the minefield until he’d got a better handle on the good doctor’s mental state).

Garak smiled blandly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, it sounds as though you have to go find Chief O’Brien to fix the door.”

Best to end this interaction quickly so he could alert Odo to the human’s strange behavior. 

Unfortunately, instead of the quickly retreating doctor he’d intended to inspire, something altogether unexpected occurred. Julian’s smile transformed into something with a bit more teeth, and he fluttered his eyelashes in a way that had Garak suddenly and acutely off-kilter in a way that was terribly unbecoming for a personage with his quality of training. Julian rolled one shoulder, leaning forward and adopting a coquettish posture.

“So it’s all _Doctor_ this morning, is it? Was that the strategy all along, my dear tailor? To lock me out so I’d have to come to you? To apologize?”

He slid until those swinging feet touched the carpet, and was then - abruptly - inside Garak’s personal space. The usually unflappable Cardassian was balancing a visceral delight at the signals he was getting with a panicked alarm bell in his mind that something was Terribly Wrong. 

Julian casually draped his forearms over Garak’s shoulders, and began playing with the ends of the dark hair that fell just a bit lower than the nape of his neck. Adopting a melodramatic tone and fighting a grin, he threw his head back and exposed a scintillating track of neck and decolletage to Garak.

“My dear _Mister_ Garak. I'm afraid I was called into an emergency surgery in my dress uniform and now it’s damaged _beyond_ repair. I’ve nothing to wear to the Bajoran Liberation Festival. Do you have any… suggestions?” He tilted his head to look at the Cardassian, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow, and still exposing the entirety of his bare neck to Garak. 

Garak, meanwhile, was wondering if he had died.

If he had indeed died and was now indeed in some unanticipated afterlife, the next question was if this was eternal reward or some version of eternal torment.

Every instinct (and a few _very loud impulses_ which sounded like echoes of fantasies he’d had) was telling him to lean forward and take the offering that was so willingly being proffered. It was only a matter of inches and he would finally know the texture and smell and taste of that strangely warm, soft skin. How delicate it really was. How hard he could bite before pleasure turned into pain, and--

He was frozen.

Unable to convince his traitorous body to push the doctor away, he could no more silence his conviction that something was Not Right and that any movement to take advantage of this opportunity would be to take liberties he’d never been given.

Despite the habit of creating a plan for every scenario, Garak was able to admit this was a scene he’d never anticipated. He was still attempting to wrestle his thoughts under control when Bashir seemed to catch on to his discomfort. The melodrama faded from his face and voice, replaced with genuine concern and a softness - directed at him so singularly and oh, this close it might well burn.

The doctor straightened and lifted both arms away from Garak’s shoulders. However, instead of pulling away as anticipated, he stepped impossibly closer and placed both hands gently on either side of Garak’s face. Compared to the ambient air temperature, they were so warm they felt nearly hot. It was intoxicating.

Perplexed, caring, hazel eyes were close - too close - and bore into his. Two thumbs caressed his cheeks as Bashir’s eyebrows knit in confusion.

“Elim, what’s wrong?”

The question was soft but Garak’s reaction was immediate. Cold as station was, it felt as though someone had poured ice down his back.

  
This was not his Bashir.

  
He took the smallest step backwards and gently but firmly grabbed the wrists of the man in front of him. He arranged as affable a smile as he could manage and took another firm step back, separating himself from the situation and the man himself.

"My dear,” Garak intoned softly, like he was convincing a child, “I think we should get you to the infirmary.”

  
  
  
  


Julian was more perceptive than some people gave him credit for - particularly when it came to people he genuinely cared to learn to read. Something had been off about Garak since the moment he’d arrived in the tailor’s shop, which Julian had written off as enduring awkwardness from this morning. But then there had been that _look_ on Elim’s face when Julian had draped his arms around him. He’d been staring at the doctor like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to ravage him on the floor or run to Odo.

Then he’d called his dear tailor _Elim_ \- of course he had, why wouldn’t he? - and the genuine shock… It had been subtle and quickly shuttered, but it was there.

Something was terribly wrong.

His brain started working a mile a millisecond. Had he fallen and experienced some sort of head trauma? Was this a hallucination? Was it possible Garak didn’t remember who he was?

Julian re-assessed the shop with a suddenly critical eye and noticed subtle differences he never would have thought to catalogue. The paint was the correct color, but freshly done, the carpet similarly replaced. The stock was different than the last time he’d been here, mannequins posed slightly differently.

He retraced his steps in his memory in a flash, remembering tripping on nothing and suddenly feeling woozy on the way from his rotation at the clinic to their quarters. He’d written it off as too much raktajino and not enough sleep in the moment but now, as he thought about it, he could remember that same light-headed, off kilter sensation before - in a Runabout covered in ore dust and oil and--

Oh no.

  
_“I think we should get you to the infirmary.”_

Garak was gentle but firm, his grip around Julian’s wrists light enough it was obvious he was not expecting any sudden movements but was more than capable of stopping any attempts to run.

Julian’s stomach dropped and he felt woozy again. This time, he was well aware, it was his own body’s fight or flight response. Something was _wrong_ .

“Yes, I think that’s wise,” he capitulated easily.

Garak should have asked for clarification - the station infirmary or your own - but no such query materialized and Julian felt true despair for a moment.

  
  
This was not his Elim.

“Garak to the infirmary?”

Garak had walked Julian, unthinking, to the com station and was now only holding his forearm lightly. Part of Julian wanted to run, but a larger part knew there was nowhere to go. If he had truly slipped universes… timelines… well Starfleet didn’t have a whole Time Incident Division for nothing.

Or perhaps he had been attacked by another psychic species, and was being forced to live a reality where his husband simply... wasn’t.

Julian now found himself experiencing the familiar creep of his own insatiable curiosity, climbing over and drowning out otherwise-overwhelming feelings of anxiety and distress. That curiosity only grew when a familiar voice chirruped over the com in response.

“Infirmary to Garak. Are you all right?”

His own voice - a little more formal, using what he referred to in his head as his _doctor tone_ \- replied. Julian and Garak looked at one another in horrified surprise.

Obviously both of them had decided something was truly awry, but the shock of _how_ wrong that something truly was rendered them both speechless. Julian was truly at a loss and for once it looked as though Garak was as well. Garak opened his mouth then closed it several times without saying anything, eyes darting from Julian’s face to where he held the human’s wrist in a light grip then back again.

“Garak? Are you all right?” The voice that was his but wasn’t _him_ sounded a bit more concerned now. 

“I - ah… Yes. Yes, Doctor. I’m all right. Are _you_ all right?” came Garak’s reply, when he found his voice.

This was, obviously, not a heartening response for either of the Doctor Bashirs. The voice came over the com again.

“I see two life signs in your shop. Prepare for emergency medical transport.”

Garak’s eyes widened and he hit a button that started shutting the doors to his shop as he began to protest. “I assure you Doctor, that won’t be nec-”

And then they were both in the infirmary.  
  


*****************************************

  
Julian was staring at the spitting image of himself, only this version still wore the Starfleet uniform he’d retired over a year ago. (He also had a few extra grey hairs, if you wanted to get pedantic - which he always did.)

Said Other Julian was staring - looking a bit gobsmacked - back at him, assessing and then noticing Garak’s hand, grey fingers still wrapped gently around his wrist. At some point just before the transport, he’d grabbed the cuff of the Cardassian-style tunic, and the two of them maintained this contact now in the infirmary. It seemed that this had caught the other Julian’s attention and wouldn’t quite let it go. Garak - in this universe or his own - was a grounding presence Julian had instinctively clung to.

Starfleet Bashir narrowed his eyes at where they lightly clung to one another and scowled for a moment. When he was able to tear his gaze away from their hands, Julian recognized every embarrassing, cringe-worthy tell that Starfleet Bashir was trying (and failing) to cover for his own rejection-sensitivity. He knew that feeling; covetousness and jealousy. It had been a long time since he’d had reason to feel it, but the echoes were sharp and uncomfortable.

So… _not_ together then?

With the look Garak had given him in the shop, he couldn’t imagine it was any failing on the Cardassian’s side, which meant this version of himself was almost certainly to blame.

Still in Starfleet with no Elim. 

Poor bastard.  
  


The Garak he was currently clinging discreetly to was also able to assess this Bashir adroitly, because the tailor immediately - if gently - shook off Julian’s hand and strode forward.

“Doctor, I believe there’s been some sort of plurality.”

Julian watched himself bristle and knew before the other him spoke it was going to be petulant.

“Replacing me with myself, Garak? And here I thought the breakfasts with Odo would be stopgap enough. I mean really - there’s a potential war on. I’m busy.” He tried to force a smile but it didn’t quite work. “What _have_ you been doing?”

There was an accusatory edge to the attempt at banter which cut more th an it should to be friendly, even by Cardassian standards. Something about the combination of words, tone, and body language set everything about Julian on edge and he bristled. He’d practically thrown himself at the tailor when he’d thought this Garak was his husband, and now this was their reception.

Ungrateful! He simply had no idea--

But Garak blinked, taking it in stride. _Julian_ was of the opinion this version of himself did not deserve the benefit of the doubt he was being given. His Elim or not, he wouldn’t stand by and have some… _emotionally stunted_ version of himself take out their insecurities on Garak. 

“First of all,” he addressed this Garak, pointedly ignoring Starfleet Bashir. “ _I’m_ probably more capable of giving a history and account of what has been happening than you, Ee- Garak. Though I appreciate your assistance and, ah… restraint.”

Julian blushed despite himself and only allowed himself to enjoy the agitated flush that appeared on Starfleet-Bashir’s face a little bit. He turned to the doppelganger in question.

“You are more than welcome to direct any questions about me _to_ me. It appears there’s been some kind of timeline slip. Anomalies like this happen more often near the wormhole - at least that’s what Dax told me when Kira and I accidentally ended up in an alternate universe once. I experienced an incident on the station, which would indicate this was both localized and a more subtle anomaly. My best hypothesis is that we’re only a few divergences away from one another’s timelines. Which is all the better - my hope is that it’ll be easier for me to get back to where I need to go the shorter the metaphorical distance…. Now, I’m sure you want to run every experiment in the lab on me - I know I would if you showed up in _my_ infirmary. So call the Captain, we’ll get to it, and let Garak get back to his shop.” He smiled back at the tailor again. “He’s been nothing but kind,” then he scowled back at the other version of himself, “though I’ve no idea why.”

“I beg your pardon?” Starfleet-him seemed affronted but Garak looked discreetly pleased. Considering this other version of himself had apparently made some rather - in Julian’s mind at least - _unfortunate_ decisions when it came to this Cardassian, Garak’s amused smirk was worth far more than his counterpart’s ire. As Garak turned to make his discreet exit, Julian stopped him.

“If you’ll excuse me the sentiment, Mister Garak, it’s been lovely but I do hope we don’t meet again.”

Garak smiled indulgently.

“While if what you’re saying is true and you do indeed come from a different timeline I can’t say I don’t envy my counterpart, I completely understand your meaning my dear,” he replied. He turned to Starfleet-Bashir and did a wonderful job of mending fences.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Doctor. He’s been through quite a shock this morning.”

Starfleet Bashir still looked a bit put out, but a well-placed grey hand squeezed his upper arm gently and rubbed gingerly until eye contact was made. Garak smiled reassuringly. “I look forward to our discussion on that atrocious book of fairy tales you gave me. I’m at your disposal, whenever you get time. There is, after all, a potential war on.”

He quirked an eye ridge at his Bashir and that got a genuine smile out of the doctor, who seemed to abruptly and acutely register how childish he was being. He looked bashful for a moment, then rose gleefully to the bait.

“No less atrocious than the book of Cardassian morality fables you had me read. Disparage true love’s kiss all you want, I’ll take it any day over every lesson being propaganda.”

“Ah, but is it propaganda if it’s truly in service of a greater good? If it contributes to the overall happiness of all?”

“But what about the -” He caught himself and smirked, then leaned into the hand on his shoulder: a silent apology for being snippy. “I’ll tell you all about this later,” he promised the Cardassian. He gestured to the door with his head. “Now go. If you make it back to your shop before Sisko gets here maybe I can leave you out of the report.”  
“Then I shall darken your doorway no longer,” Garak replied amilably. Apology accepted then. 

Well they certainly _spoke_ like Julian spoke with his Elim.  
How strange. 

As Julian made himself as comfortable as possible on the nearest biobed, he was certain he’d have plenty of opportunity to compare notes with this version of himself. Perhaps they weren’t _that_ different, after all. 

  
  


*****************************************************

  
  


It was only a bit existentially alarming how run-of-the-mill timeslip incidents were as far as Starfleet Policy went. They even had a Best Practices manual for the situation, including how to best ascertain where and how to get the slipped individual or individuals back.

Apparently the best results were generally had if the individual could be sent back through the anomaly they had originally slipped through. Sisko had instructed Dax to find the anomaly and shove this "New Bashir back through" it before the next shift change in a half-hearted attempt at being able to avoid another investigation by the Time Department. Fortunately, Jadzia - brilliant as she was in any timeline - had been able to find the anomaly with limited difficulty.

The bad news was that it kept drifting about the space both inside and around Deep Space Nine.

Despite his counterpart’s willingness to “put on a space suit and give it a try” if it got him home, Dax had made it quite clear they needed to wait until the anomaly was back in a large, geostable area of the station before Bashir was allowed to let anyone try anything. 

Which is how Prime Bashir and this Other Julian in civilian clothes found themselves staring at one another over the desk in Dr. Bashir’s office…

waiting.

Bashir had given Civilian Julian - (at least, that was what he was calling this _Other Him_ in his own mind) - a full physical and found nothing terribly interesting.

The other him appeared to be about a year older, give or take a few months. He had a few pounds on him, and slightly lower blood pressure. More evidence of dermal regeneration but all of it superficial. Slightly higher potassium than his own, but if he spent more time with Garak, well… Cardassian food was significantly higher in the stuff than most Terran dishes.

They really were basically the same person, once removed.

Unfortunately, for all their similarities, this Civilian Julian seemed extremely reticent to offer up much information on his own. He seemed almost petulant, like he was being quiet simply because he knew the lack of information would be irksome. Finally, when he couldn’t stand the tension and the unanswered questions anymore, Bashir sighed and broke the silence.

“At what point did you figure out something was wrong?”

Great, yes, what a way to start. Hello Other Me, I know you’re trapped in a version of your world that’s only just different enough to be completely disorienting and you’re worried you’ll never get home, but when did you NOTICE your life as you knew it may or may not be over. 

Starting with the easy ones. 

Luckily, he was dealing with - well - himself. So Civilian Julian simply leveled an unamused look at Dr. Bashir over the desk, rolled his eyes expressively, and answered matter-of-factly.

“Well, it was strange I couldn’t get into our quarters, but I thought Eli - uh…”

Civilian Julian’s eyes darted this way and that for a moment, like his own did when he knew he had started a sentence more personal than he’d meant. 

“I suppose it was when I went to see Garak and he didn’t seem to know what I was talking about. We’d had, uh… a bit of an argument this morning and I thought that was perhaps why he was acting a bit strange. Obviously, he had no idea what I was talking about when I apologized. Then I, uh… Well, I suppose that was when I first started to suspect something was really wrong.”

He looked around the infirmary with a self-depreciating scoff. “Of course, universe displacement wasn’t exactly my first suspicion.”

Bashir made a little sound of agreement. It wouldn’t have been his first thought either, he assumed. “I mean it wouldn’t be…”

He gestured to Civilian Julian’s attire. “Why are you wearing civilian clothes?”

“Well, I was only going to be on call the rest of the day,” he hedged. Bashir perked up.

“Oh! So you’re still Starfleet? I’m wondering if you’re a recent divergence. Perhaps we don’t even need to send you through the anomaly again and we only need to merge our timelines or--”

“No!”

The other Julian looked stricken, and mildly panicked. Bashir frowned.

“But if you’re a recent divergence--”

“I… I don’t think we are. We couldn’t possibly.” He hugged himself and Bashir recognized a helpless, lost note to his expression. “Not with the way Elim reacted.”

Bashir squinted, assessing. “You keep calling Garak by his first name… now you’re so convinced we’re not a recent divergence…” He sat back and plopped his PADD on the desk in front of him, unamused with his other self’s reticence. “Come on, out with it. How long have you been, y'know... _physical_?”

Whatever reaction he was expecting from his other self, it wasn’t what he got. Civilian Julian blinked rapidly, staring at clasped hands in his lap before taking a steadying breath through his nose. He tried to paste on a smile, but it was sad and flitted away quickly. He blinked rapidly for 1.83 seconds, then something like pity stole into Julian’s face as he looked up and Bashir shifted uncomfortably. “Physical? That's how you-”

He sighed, looking truly sad.

“Elim and I have been involved for over three years. Living together for almost two… we were arguing this morning about… about…” He blinked rapidly again and waved a hand, smiling in an utterly unconvincing way at Bashir, whose eyebrows were raised to prompt the rest of the sentence. “Nothing of consequence.“  
  
Bashir stared at this version of himself, emotional and sure of himself and strangely evasive.

Living together for two years - maybe he and Garak were having issues. Or maybe he was being stolen away by Tain and the allure of returning to Cardassia, if their timelines were so similar. A small part of Bashir wanted to hear how terribly the decision to be involved with - to _live_ with - Garak had gone.

“So to answer your question, _Doctor Bashir_ , I have been _physical_ with _Elim Garak_ for approximately three years, though I have to admit we’ve been in love for much closer to four.” He leveled a steady gaze at Bashir. “And married for 7 Standard months.”

There was steel in the way the fact had been tossed across the table, and suddenly Bashir knew he’d been so wrong. This other version of himself wasn’t sad because of something in his own timeline. This other version of himself missed his Garak like he missed a limb. He knew because he felt that absence as well, particularly when their schedules misaligned or he was sent off to conferences that lasted more than a few days. It stung and twisted in his gut.

Married.

It wasn’t something Bashir had ever consciously allowed himself to ponder but, now that he sat across from a version of himself that had gone and done it… oh, he wanted.

Bashir thought he’d felt envy before, but this was a whole new level. It burned hot and cold and angry and sad, and the strangest part was that it was directed at _himself.  
_  
Civilian Julian squinted at Bashir. “Aha. There it is. I knew we couldn’t be that different… what was our divergence event? I do wonder…”  
  
Bashir couldn’t deny he was still curious, even as the acid of jealousy tore through him. This version of him looked so happy: cheeks just a bit fuller than his own, smile just a bit more genuine, posture just a bit more relaxed.

He changed subjects.

“Are you at war? In your world - what’s the Federation’s relationship like with the Dominion? With the Klingons?”  
  
A shadow fell over Julian’s face. “Oh yes, things are… tense. Jadzia, C’taal, and Miles are always in meetings about it, seems like.”  
  
“C’taal?”  
  
“Doctor C’taal.” Julian waited, then seemed to shake himself. “Oh. Obviously. _You’re_ still CMO here, obviously C’taal would still be on the Bellerophon I suppose.”  
  
“Perhaps that’s the divergence event!”

Bashir was far too enthusiastic, but a part of him desperately needed to know what was so different about this version of himself. What decision he’d made to have sent him on a path only just askance of his own. _Just a bit better_ a traitorous voice kept whispering, and he desperately needed to silence it with an answer to the puzzle. But Julian just scoffed.

“Wait… why wouldn’t you be CMO?”

Horror replaced the jealousy.

He must have been found out. “Sisko DECOMMISSIONED you?”  
  
Julian lifted his hands, palms out, placating. “Noo, no! No, allowing me to resign my commission with honors to work for Bajor was one the the biggest favors Sisko ever did me.”

He sighed, looking at Bashir with meaning. “I was attacked by a Lethean. Telepathic attack.”  
  
Bashir nodded. “Yes, that happened here as well.”  
  
His counterpart sniffed and tugged his Bajoran knit-style vest tighter around his waist.

“Well then, you know we shouldn’t have survived. I’m not sure how _you_ managed to get away without additional inquiries after that, but between the just slightly off-normal physical readings they got during the event, and with both insubordination and grand theft on my record - well…”  
  
“Wait, wait,” Bashir leaned forward and steepled his elbows and fingers on the desk, taking a calming breath. “Insubordination and grand theft?”  
  
Julian smiled, amused. “You didn’t stay with Sisko when the Bajoran nationalists retook the station? Well that explains--”  
  
“Oh! Yes, that… I’d ah... “ Bashir wrinkled his nose. “I’d forgotten about that being… technically… insubordination” He flushed then pushed forward. “But - but - grand theft??”

“The runabout?” Julian lifted his eyebrows, obviously expecting the words to prompt some kind of memory.

Bashir continued staring at Julian blankly.  
  
“To Bajor?”

Still no recognition flickered in the CMO’s face.  
  
“Rugal! The Cardassian boy, the orphan!”  
  
Sudden memory flooded Bashir’s face with understanding.

“OH! Rugal! Yes! Sisko gave us a runabout to go to Bajor after Garak broke into my quarters in the middle of the night. It was really--”

He blinked as Julian’s lips pursed into a scowl.

“Sisko didn’t give _you_ the runabout.” He didn’t need to phrase it as a question.

“Nope.”

“And you… Garak convinced you--”  
  
“Mister Garak didn’t _convince_ me of _anything,_ thank you. I’ve been over **that** point enough times for one lifetime no matter what universe.” He melted a little. “So that means you didn’t… he never…”

Julian smiled a little, sad smile at Bashir.

“So it’s nothing you did or didn’t do. You simply didn’t have the opportunity to surprise him early. To show him…”

He blinked watery eyes and passed the back of a hand across his face.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been unfair. To you and, I suppose, myself. I apologize for assuming you did this to yourself on purpose - chose fear. You never had the choice to make.”

This version of himself seemed very comfortable with his emotions in a way Bashir never felt, and a part of him ached. Was this what he looked like when he was loved? When he _knew_ he was loved? He so desperately wanted to see if this Julian’s Garak was as happy and confident and solid as this Julian seemed.

“What… Did something happen? On the runabout? Something that wouldn’t have happened since we were given it freely?”

Julian chewed the inside of his bottom lip for a moment, obviously weighing whether he should divulge the information. Finally, he seemed to take in the desperate, aching curiosity on his counterpart’s face and made his decision.

“We should have some tea.”

  
They talked for nearly three hours, Bashir asking anything and everything he could about life in a timeline so achingly familiar and so fascinatingly different. As far as he could tell, this other Julian’s life and his own had only diverged when Captain Sisko had _not_ been interrupted by Dukat and changed his mind about giving the CMO a runabout to go investigate Rugal’s past on Bajor. He’d been flatly denied, in fact, and had been more than a little offended by it. He’d marched Garak down to the airlocks himself, checked that none were needed in the next 72 hours, and just… commandeered one.

Garak had, apparently, been quietly impressed by the confidence, yes, but had unfortunately found himself less inclined to utilize this apparent weakness he’d uncovered and - to his horror - touched by the faith the young medical officer had in his friend. And that’s what Julian had called Garak on the runabout - his friend. Julian had blushed into his tea when he mentioned it was, Elim had admitted later, the first time in the Cardassian’s life someone had so openly admitted they cared for him without caveat or expectation.

The first bit of snow to start the avalanche, so to speak.

Things were only marginally different for them after that - a few dinners here and there in lieu of canceled lunches. Mostly, it seemed, the prioritization of time spent with one another in a way that had only just started to occur between Bashir and his own version of the Cardassian before what he had to explain as The Wire Incident. (He’d glossed over those details as much as possible, unable to put either of them through a full retelling of what this Other Julian’s Garak would have been put through had he not come to Julian one night, handing him a small remote and all the trust he had in the world all at once). 

Miles was mentioned, and allusions to their close friendship appeared to be a bit surprising to this alternative Julian.

“Sure, we’re friendly I suppose,” he’d hedged. “But he's not exactly a fan of Cardassians, is he? Or of… well…me. The real me. Besides, we’re always over there anyway. Garak and Keiko are practically grown-up versions of Jake and Nog at this point.”

Bashir had bitten the inside of his cheek when he asked about Keiko O’Brien, having put two and two together and knowing he wouldn’t have been on the ship during her accident. (Turns out having a CMO with the reflexes of a cat - literally - was invaluable. Julian hardly remembered the incident.)

This had, of course, struck up an explanation of who Dr. C’taal was and what exactly had led to Julian’s resignation from Starfleet. Whether it was under duress (it was not), whether he was happy (he was), and if he ever missed it (not as much as he’d thought, though he did miss being able to stroll into Ops on a whim for the latest gossip).

Bashir made a point of not asking, but Julian had volunteered the information of his own volition: Garak was the only one who knew about his enhanced genetic status, but he had a feeling both C’taal and Sisko knew something was a bit… different about the young Doctor. Bashir was encouraged to tell his Garak - well, rather he was informed that apparently Cardassians didn’t give two rotten eggs about genetic enhancements.  
  
“Honestly, I had myself up in knots about it for _weeks_ , and when I finally got the gumption - do you know what he said?”  
  
Bashir was hot and cold with anxiety, despite knowing that it had obviously gone well. “No? What-- What did he say?”  
  
The Julian in civilian clothes puffed out his cheeks and blew out an expressive breath, rolling his eyes and tipping back in his chair.

"He told me not to _scare_ him like that again, that he thought it was something _bad_ like they were going to transfer me to Andoria or somesuch.”  
  
The “BWAH!” of surprised, relieved amusement that left Bashir was neither conscious nor quiet.

“ _ **No**_.”  
  
“Yeah! Couldn’t figure out what all the fuss was about, had to have him read the entire history of the Eugenics wars for context.” Julian smiled, looking around the office.

“I was right where you are now a few days later when the thought occurred to me he’d found the idea of my being transferred to Andoria a tragedy. I left for an early lunch because I couldn’t get it out of my head… When I asked he told me he’d hate living on Andoria, but at least they buy a lot of clothes and I--”

He had frowned and Bashir had caught the flicker of a wobble in his lip before he’d sipped his tea and waved a dismissive hand.

“Sorry - I guess I’m just anxious. I haven’t been in a situation like this alone before. It’s a bit, well…”

Bashir knew.

“You’re terrified something will go wrong and you won’t get home. It’s all right. I would be too.” He smiled at the grateful look he got from the all-too-familiar face and tapped his temple. “I’ve got the same brain, different experiences or not. I know you’ve done the calculations. Probably haven’t stopped since we sat down. There’s a non-zero chance the anomaly disappears, or the timeline you go back to isn’t your own, or your universe has somehow ceased to exist somehow. I know.”

He sighed and leaned back in his desk chair and signed. “What did you do?”

Julian blinked. “Pardon?”

“When Garak told you he’d hate living on Andoria, what’d you do? You stopped. Sorry if it’s too--”  
  
Julian’s eyes went wide, and then a big toothy grin sprang into existence.

“Oh! Well, first I asked why he thought he’d need to come to Andoria if I was transferred, which started… oof. Big row. Biggest yet.”

He giggled and finished the last bit of his tea as Bashir crinkled his nose. Yeah, that sounded like him all right.

Julian shrugged one shoulder. “But we ended up in family quarters together by the end of the next week, so I guess it all worked out eventually.”

That got them both laughing, and Bashir refilled both their teas.

Talk strayed to the Dominion at one point. Julian warned vaguely of keeping Garak sane and supporting him when the time came, which was both ominous and obvious. Due to possible timestream disruption, Julian didn’t want to say much more and Bashir - despite his burning curiosity - managed to settle for the information that Julian hadn’t had reason to attend a funeral or memorial ceremony yet. It was obvious something was brewing, but considering Garak’s shop had recently exploded and the Obsidian Order had been basically obliterated, Garak and Odo nearly alongside… well, he hadn’t needed higher-than-average critical thinking skills to put that together.

They were just diving into the minutiae of Julian’s work with Bajor (and their tenuous alliance with the Federation) when Bashir’s badge chirped with an urgent, firm Jadzia.  
  
“Dax to Bashir. Dax to Bash - NO, YOU STAY HERE. I don’t _care_ \- to Bashir.”  
  
Bashir frowned and tapped his com. “Bashir here.”  
  
“Julian! Is, uh… Is Julian with you?”

“Of course! I wasn’t going to let him go wandering about the--”  
  
“Good. Meet me at Cargo Bay 4, please. ASAP, the anomaly is beginning to be unstable and, ah… just - both of you get down here please. Now.”  
  
Both doctors were already up and moving, Julian bouncing on his toes waiting for Bashir to grab his medkit. He addressed Jadzia.

"Should we beam down?”  
  
“No! No, I don’t want anything interfering with this thing. We need it stable if two people are going through at once.” A pause, then - obviously talking to someone next to her - “They’ll be here in an minute, you may _not_ meet them. How’d you even--”

She cut off and Bashir only needed to glance at his counterpart’s face to know exactly what was going on in that cargo bay.

Julian’s features were shining with delight and anticipation. Bashir rolled his eyes, but couldn’t keep the smile off his face even as a cord of green envy wrapped itself around his insides.  
  
“Come on,” he said, gesturing towards the door and teasing. “God - would that I never look like _that_ about someone.” 

Julian gave him a skeptical look with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. It said that he saw through Bashir’s performative aloofness in a moment, and knew immediately what kind of deep ache lived in his chest.

Now wasn’t the time, however, and both men went scampering out of the infirmary to the nearest turbolift.

  
Bashir managed to keep a measured pace, but Julian was practically falling over himself by the time they made it to Cargo Bay 4. He tumbled around the last doorframe, a mess of limbs and emotions wrapped in questionable, Bajoran-style knitwear, then paused for a moment inside the doorway. He drew himself up as Bashir entered as well, adding another Starfleet uniform to the strange scene.

Garak was standing next to Dax, who was holding some kind of modified tricorder with a blinking light on the top. He was holding something that looked very much like Dax’s scanner if she had made her own out of bits and bobs scavenged out of the walls (which, to be fair, was likely exactly how his version was constructed).

This Garak was nearly indistinguishable from the one Bashir had parted ways with earlier in the day except for three key differences: his clothes were different, his hair was approximately 4 centimeters longer and held back with a small, horizontal pin at the nape of his neck, and he was staring with palpable relief at Other Julian.

His eyes darted over to Bashir for a moment, eye ridges raising with a surprised sort of curiosity, but he couldn’t hold the man’s attention for long.

Particularly not when Julian walked towards him with purpose and folded around him like he’d never expected to see the tailor again. (Though, knowing the scenarios and odds that had invariably been running through the other Julian’s head, Bashir was forced to admit there had been a non-zero chance of that very outcome).

Bashir and Dax looked at one another with a soft awkwardness as Julian buried his face in this Garak’s neck just under his aural ridge, clinging tighter with fists in the back of his tunic.  
  
Garak made a soft clicking sound Bashir had never heard before and rubbed the other doctor’s back.

“Now, now. Did you really think I’d leave you to come back all by yourself? You’re terrible at being alone, my dear, and even worse at finding your way without a map. For all your gifts, you’ve no sense of direction.” Despite the teasing words, his tone was soft and comforting. Bashir wondered if Dax had even heard, or if it was just his superior hearing that had allowed him the privilege.

Julian took a deep breath and relaxed against his Garak before pulling back and straightening just enough to pull their foreheads together.

  
“Elim, I- I’m so sorry. This morning, I shouldn’t have pressed. I just got carried away and then we both got so upset and... I’ve been thinking about it all day. Twelve percent. Twelve percent chance this wouldn’t work the same going the other way, Elim, and what if that was - was -”

He closed his eyes and Garak moved a hand up to his jaw, fingers across his cheek and threading into hair behind his ear.  
  
“Shhh, do you know what I would do to keep you? You think a spat about children would keep me from coming for you? Love, your lack of faith wounds me,” he teased, tipping Julian’s face away from his forehead to lay a soft, reassuring kiss against his husband’s lips.

Bashir, for his part, felt a bit like a voyeur on an incredibly intimate moment. But it wasn’t as though the other two thought they were alone - they simply didn’t seem to care if the others in the cargo bay saw them.

That same wondering ache flared in Bashir’s heart - what was it like? To love and be loved so dearly you didn’t care who saw it.

Garak addressed his Julian slightly louder “Now, shall we go home? It’s been an exceedingly long day, and I know for a fact Lieutenant Dax was rather put out by my insistence in being the one to come find you.”

Bashir and Dax shared a look of confusion as Julian and his Garak separated a bit (though Julian had a bit of a death grip on the hand Garak wasn’t wasn’t holding the scanner with).  
  
“Apologies, different Dax,” Garak demurred, nodding to the Trill.  
  
Jadzia, for her part, smiled brightly and approached the couple.

“I mean, same Dax, kind of,” she replied.

Bashir drifted forward as Jadzia fiddled with her scanner.

“I’m a bit surprised the other me let you through the anomaly without proper tracking.” She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Of course, that assumes she knew you were going through at all.”

A pointed look at his cobbled-together scanner was all it took for an entire conversation to occur between her and this alternate Garak. Bashir frowned. He hated when Dax did that, he never understood what was supposed to be happening.

Apparently this was a trait he shared with his counterpart, who elbowed his husband none-too-gently and scowled.  
  
“Must you? You know I hate that,” he groused.  
  
Garak turned a fond smile towards him. “Apologies, my dear doctor. Old habits die hard, isn’t that your saying?”

He caught a good look at Bashir for the first time, and nodded in greeting. “Hello. Good to know Starfleet uniforms are the same terribly-unbecoming nonsense no matter what timestream we land in.”  
  
“Elim, behave,” Julian chided unconvincingly, trying to hide a laugh. Bashir couldn’t help but smile as well.  
  
“Well, you’re certainly a Garak. Mine hates the uniform as well, keeps petitioning Sisko to redesign them in a more complimentary style.”  
  
Garak raised his eyeridges in pleased surprise. “ _Your_ Garak hates the uniform as well, you say? Well… at least I know I have consistent taste.”  
  
Bashir felt the need to correct, but couldn’t come up with the words. “Oh, not-not, uh. I mean he’s not _my_ Garak so much as… I mean, this _timeline_ ’s Garak, he’s not- uh.”  
  
The Other Garak nodded in quick understanding. “Ah, I see. Apologies, I didn’t mean to fluster you. Though I must admit, it’s much easier to do to you than my enjoined.” He leveled a sly smile at his husband. “Whatever happened to you? Have I become so predictable?”  
  
Both doctors opened their mouths to respond, but Jadzia beat them all to the punch.  
  
“Sorry to cut this short, but this anomaly has been jumping all around the station and I’d really like to make sure you two don’t step through into outer space so… if we could?”  
  
She gestured to the shimmery bit of atmosphere hardly noticeable in the middle of the Cargo Bay. Honestly, it was little wonder the Other Julian had walked through it unawares - it was practically invisible and that was with a stability field around it.The four of them gathered around. Julian and Garak, hands still held fast, stood side by side in front of the shimmery air.

Julian looked at Bashir

“Thank you, Doctor Bashir, for your assistance and your company. I… hope things go well for you. Think about what I said?” Bashir nodded, not wanting to get too specific with Jadzia right there. (It seemed the other Julian understood perfectly).  
  
“Of course. I wish you all the happiness,” he replied. “Both of you.”  
  
Garak smiled. “Many thanks. And I appreciate you looking after my Julian while he was here. Do take good care of yourself, Doctor. And, if I may, make sure _I_ do the same.”

Then the Cardassian looked at his Julian Bashir, who nodded then looked to Dax.  
  
“Everything ready?” Julian asked. 

Jadzia nodded. “Everything seems stable, and the signature on the other side hasn’t changed since Garak appeared and we locked it, so you should be landing in the same time stream you came from.”  
  
“Should." Julian looked at Garak. "Well, at least we’re together, right? On the count of three?”  
  
Garak smiled, genuinely delighted. “You and your strange superstitions. On three.”  
  
Eyes rolling and a fond smile that communicated more elaboration on the point at a later date, Julian started. “One, two, three!”  
  
The two of them stepped forward at the same time and --

They were gone.

****************************************

Jadzia and Bashir had been quiet on the walk back to the Promenade. After checking everything seemed to be in order, Dax had shut down and neutralized the timespace anomaly, effectively repairing the hole that had somehow been punched between their two universes. Doctor Bashir had helped - mostly because it was nearly the end of his shift and partly because he was enjoying the quiet time to think while also in the company of his friend.

That other Garak was right about one thing - he _was_ terrible at being alone. 

They were on the turbolift when Bashir started speaking, dropping Jadzia into the ongoing conversation he’d had going on in his head for some minutes. (Luckily she caught on quick).  
  
“I mean… at least we’re not like _that_ ,” he exclaimed apropos of nothing.  
  
Dax just smiled and stifled a laugh.  
  
“What?” he glared accusingly at his friend.  
  
Dax looked at him kindly, if a bit like he was missing the boat. “Oh Julian. When you and Garak get together, I’m pretty sure the Dominion could open fire on the station and you wouldn’t notice. You two might not be that affectionate, but you’re just as wrapped up in one another.”  
  
Bashir gaped at her, affronted but unable to come up with an articulate rebuttal.

"Nuh uh, we are not,” was what he finally landed on. (He could admit, it wasn’t the most articulate defense of his position).  
  
Dax smiled that infuriating, sphinx-smile of hers. “Mmm hmm,” she replied, then seemed to catch a thought that made her straighten up.

"Do you want to be?”  
  
Bashir just blinked rapidly at her, mind racing. He had a lot to think about.

“I _want_ to go back to my quarters. I need to finish the report on this incident, I need a shower and a change of clothes, and…” he took a deep breath and focused on the door so as not to see Jadzia’s reaction. “And I need to talk to Garak.”  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he could have sworn Jadzia looked incredibly pleased with herself. 

  
  


***********************************************

Despite his best intentions, it was nearly 2200 by the time he got to Garak’s quarters. He rang the doorbell and was slightly surprised when it opened in short order and he was shown in. He’d half expected Garak to be in bed by now.

A small part wondered if he’d procrastinated this long on the off chance he was told to come back tomorrow. Though he couldn't say why he thought delaying this - now he'd decided to take the plunge, as the old saying went - was going to make it any easier.

“I’m sorry,” Bashir demurred. “I should have come earlier.”

“I assure you, Doctor, I’ve healed from the explosion quite well.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Bashir strode confidently up to his friend and lightly grabbed his wrist. Jumping in with both feet, to contribute the aquatic metaphor, he decided it was best not to let Garak take control of the conversation.

“The other me. He’s so happy. I wish…” He shook his head, trying to let go what if’s that had been plaguing him, and started again.

“After Miles and I were declared dead. We talked a lot on that planet, and he told me being married was like going on an adventure. I remember thinking how ridiculous that sounded, since the only person I could imagine being so interesting for so long was… was… well…”

He turned the wrist he held loosely in both hands so the hand was facing palm-up and, remarkably, Garak let him.

“That other Julian - he had the same thing happen. And when he got back to the station he ran here. To you. He showed up at your door half-dead and half-mad and you opened the door and he said you looked so, so... “

Bashir cradled the back of Garak’s hand in his own palm and thanked all the gods he could name that the loquacious spy somehow always understood how important silence was when the doctor was trying to express certain thoughts.

“He had a whole speech about - well, I know what it would have been. I thought it out as well. But I went to my quarters and then to bed and by the time I saw you the next day I, well… I’d talked myself out of it really. But that Julian. He came to you.”

Garak inhaled a shaky breath as Bashir lightly traced the lines that traversed the grey palm in his hand.

“He said the moment he saw you, the whole speech flew right out the window. He said you answered the door and whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t to see you go from heartbroken to shocked awe. Those two just stood there, staring. And then he kissed you.”

Bashir had anticipated the slight twitch of the hand away from his own at the revelation of his other self’s actions and held on just firmly enough to keep the hand in place.

Garak’s voice was smooth and calm. Far too pleasant to be anything but a facade considering the circumstances. "How fascinating. I do hope I didn’t cause too much hurt to his person or ego after such a forward overture.”

Bashir finally looked up from the patterns he was drawing on the man’s hand and met Garak’s eyes.

“He told you he loved you that night.” He held Garak’s eyes for an eternal moment before he broke again and returned to tracing featherlight trails down the man’s fingers. “You wouldn’t say it for months - until after Toran and the false promise of going home. He said you…”

Bashir smiled. “But he knew. Everything you did - do. For him. For me. And because you trusted one another, you told him about your implant before it…”

He could do this. He _needed_ to do this.

"Well you didn’t almost **die** for one. And all this, with Enabrain Tain and Odo and your shop… well, his version is rather a different story, might I say.”

He ventured a glance up just in time to see a sad smile flick across Garak’s face at that. 

The doctor stopped his tracing and pivoted both their hands to the side before softly, slowly, pressing his human palm against the sensitized flesh of Garak’s own.

“Elim, I’m sorry,” he whispered, still staring at their hands instead of the face that hovered only inches away. His heart ached and he felt like he wanted to cry. The Cardassian in front of him didn’t react in any way he could read without looking him square in the face, and a not insignificant part of Bashir was so convinced he was completely wrong.

Convinced he was chasing a fantasy, or that he was too late, or what the Other Julian he was so desperately jealous of shared with his husband was a certain something this version of himself was simply destined never to have.  
  
Then Garak spoke.  
  
“Whatever for, my dear?”  
  
Bashir frowned, discombobulated. “Huh?”  
  
“What could you possibly be apologizing for, Doctor?” Garak asked softly, amused smile hovering around the corners of his mouth. He pressed their hands together to keep them in contact at the slightest change in pressure from the human.  
  
Bashir opened his mouth to explain, but ended up gaping like a fish as possible answers were tested and discarded at lightning speed.  
  
“Are you sorry for respecting my privacy? For valuing what we have enough to be afraid to lose it? For serving the Federation first and foremost? No. No, dear, you have nothing to apologize for,” he cooed, pressing his straight fingers into the gaps between Bashir’s.  
  
The doctor took a shivery breath. “I should have come to you. When Miles and I got back. I should have -”  
  
“And what do you think you would have found? How would things have been different? I can’t imagine that you going to bed instead of showing up on my doorstep was this lauded and much-speculated-about divergence point.”  
  
“No... it wasn’t.” Bashir frowned, wondering how many of the logs Garak had been hacking in real time. “Though it well could have been,” he added petulantly.

Garak smiled. “Something happened before then which allowed another version of myself to trust another version of you - whether I wanted to or not - or I would have taken you to bed and never allowed you into my quarters ever again,” he informed Bashir in that matter of fact way he had when he was speaking real truths. The doctor raised his eyebrows in surprise but Garak carried on. “Whatever may have happened between this strange version of yourself you’ve been interrogating and this other version of me, it kept one of my most cherished memories from occurring. So how could I possibly hold your actions against you, even knowing what might have been had things gone differently?”

“One of your most cherished memories, Garak, what--”  
  
Cool, dry fingers slipped between his own as Garak brought Bashir’s hand between their bodies and cupped it with his other hand. “You fought for my life when even I didn’t want it, Doctor. I’ve experienced care before, of course I have. But your _inexplicable_ and frankly rather selfish desire to keep me with you despite…” He closed his eyes, and snuffed out a breath through his nose, like he was scolding a memory of himself. “Despite everything. You are the first person who cared enough to want me to stay. And that was when I realized, in turn, what I’d do to keep _you._ ”

They were standing so close now, and Bashir’s heart was a butterfly in the back of his throat. Even still, he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

“You.” He swallowed audibly. “You want to keep… me? Too?”  
  
Garak let out an amused rattle that sounded mostly like a laugh and shook his head in disbelief.

“Oh, Doctor.” The hand not clasped tightly in Bashir’s own let go and threaded itself through the fluffy, short hair behind his ear and angled his head with a soft but sure pressure. Bashir felt like he was floating, but still managed a correction that felt _incredibly important_ at this juncture.  
  
“Julian. Please,” his eyes flicked from Garak’s own eyes to grey lips and back again.

“Chulian,” he smiled around the sound and the accent only highlighted how wonderful and rare the feeling of hearing it that sparked in the human’s chest really was.

“I find myself rather distressingly in your thrall, my dear. I’m relieved to find the feeling to be mutual.”

The delighted little hiccup that came from Bashir at that declaration was swallowed immediately by cool, grey lips and the exponential growth of the sparkling feeling he'd had in his chest.. 

It may have been a few years later than ideal, but Bashir couldn’t complain - as far as first kisses went, he suspected this would be the most memorable. Which was a good thing, since he desperately hoped that - just maybe - it was the last first kiss he’d ever need.

  
************************************ 

  
Julian and Garak were both unapologetically joyful at opening their eyes and finding themselves in another Cargo Bay 4 - this one decidedly devoid of any Jadzia Dax’s or additional Doctor Bashir’s, though it did contain a small, carved-statue trinket Garak had found somewhere and placed on a crate as a marker. Julian looked around and, having received a confirming nod that they were in the correct place, gave a happy whoop and jumped straight up into the air. Garak, though his celebration was rather more internal in nature, was equally as enthused at being home. 

Later (much later - Julian had forgotten how much paperwork was involved in an incident like this), in their quarters, Julian wrapped himself around his husband and closed his eyes.

“I’m so happy to be home, Elim,” he mumbled, burrowing deeper under the blanket in their bed.  
  
Garak gave a rumbling laugh.  
  
“You were gone less than 26 hours, my dear. Certainly you couldn’t have been homesick in that short an amount of time.”  
  
Julian thought for a moment. “No… but it was just so…” he sat up just enough that he could prop his head on a hand, leaning on his elbow on the bed. “This is going to sound ridiculous and you’re going to make fun of me,” he warned.  
  
The Cardassian in his bed smiled indulgently. “I’m certain of both, my love. I’m also certain you’ll tell me anyway.” He shifted so the doctor had his full attention.

Julian picked at a loose thread in the bedspread, smiling softly.  
  
“It just seemed so _exciting_ there. But not necessarily in a way I’d choose.” He sighed, abandoning the thread to study Garak’s face. “I thought I wanted adventure. But I find I’m far more invested in my _life_ than just the nebulous concept of excitement anymore. Is that… Am I getting dull, Elim?”

Garak leaned up, resting their foreheads together for a moment, before pulling away and looking at his enjoined seriously.

“The adventures you ask for now are no less exciting than the ones you find in storybooks or holoprograms. They’re simply the types of adventures people forget to write about. Small adventures. Personal ones. Adventures in loving those who it may be difficult to care for, or caring for those for whom care is most foreign. Adventures in being yourself, truly, for the first time without constraint. I would hardly call that dull.”  
  
Julian sighed, smiling. “I don’t know if I agree with you. But that does make me feel better.”  
  
His husband smiled back. “Well, I’ll make sure to argue with you about it in the morning. Make you defend your position like a good partner should. I’m sure that will only help assure you I’m correct in this matter.”  
  
“Elim?”  
  
“Mmm?”  
  
Julian was staring at the other man again, unspeakable fondness in his gaze. “I love you.”  
  
Garak reflected every bit of the sentiment he was receiving. “And I you, my dear.”

He patted Julian’s hand.

“Now get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> ATTB


End file.
